


Protest Too Much

by shawskankredemption



Series: Don't Let It Spoil You [1]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: M/M, Secret Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-19
Updated: 2013-10-19
Packaged: 2017-12-29 20:32:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1009762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shawskankredemption/pseuds/shawskankredemption
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These days, Hermann seems to spend a lot of his time hating Newton Geiszler.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Protest Too Much

He is good at numbers but not very good at sarcasm. He can speak three languages but finds small talk excruciatingly difficult. Every day, he is always careful to wipe the chalkdust off his hands before he makes a cup of tea. A black, weak brew, teabag dipped in twice, left to sit for two minutes before he takes a sip. 

It’s not that Hermann’s obsessive, no, it’s not that at all. He just likes things his way. Books lined up neatly on the shelf. All the equations arranged together in beautiful, predictable unity. Exacting. Precise. Quiet. 

He would much prefer if the air was not soured with rock music or sarcasm. He would much prefer if Newton Geiszler would lower his voice sometimes, stop speaking quite so fast, and stop laughing quite so loud. 

Hermann thinks he would much prefer it if Newton wasn’t there at all, because after all, he cannot stand him.

He cannot stand the constant mess and the manic energy. He cannot stand him calling him by his first name. 

He hates it most of all when Newton, in an attempt to get a rise, sings out terms of endearment like weapons, things like ‘wake up, sunshine!’ and ‘they don’t pay me for my looks, baby!’   
After all, it doesn’t feel right to use those sorts of words when you don’t mean them, and could never mean them to Hermann in a hundred years. And yet wouldn’t it sound strange to hear Newton say those words seriously to someone? How different would his voice sound? Would he whisper it? Hermann wonders this, and he’s not sure why he wonders. Because Newton Geiszler is never soft and tender and quiet, he is brash and loud and annoying.   
Hermann hates those damn tattoos, too. He hates how Newton flaunts them, rolling his sleeves up to the elbow whenever he’s working. But he also wants to know just how far those tattoos go, whether they crawl like spiders up his forearms and fan out across his chest as well. And sometimes, he sort of wants to trace a finger across them, just to see if the skin is raised or not, whether the colour changes with pressure, all from a purely scientific perspective. And then Hermann starts to hate himself for even wanting to know, for even thinking about Newton Geiszler for a single second of his spare time.

And these days Hermann seems to spend a lot of his spare time hating Newton Geiszler. Because shouldn’t hating someone this much wake you up at night sometimes? Shouldn’t the object of your dislike occupy a good corner of your brain?  
And he really can’t stand him, after all. He hates those loose skinny ties, his delirious laugh, how he runs his hands distractedly through his hair, how his eyes seem more green than brown when he’s excited, absolutely everything, down to his last chewed-off fingernail.   
It’s just so strange, sometimes, how the hatred makes his heart beat faster when he sees him.


End file.
